


The Sunset Over the Sea

by iruutciv, natsubaki



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alliances, Allusions to Shinto, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Dancing, Falling In Love, Fantasy, Fantasy elements, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Majesties Zine, Mutual Pining, Political Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25270354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iruutciv/pseuds/iruutciv, https://archiveofourown.org/users/natsubaki/pseuds/natsubaki
Summary: Sent off to a foreign land to marry a man he has never met, Prince Victor Nikiforov has known only loss: his magic, his crown, and now his freedom. But his betrothed, Emperor Yuuri Katsuki, harbors secrets and surprises of his own.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 25
Kudos: 300
Collections: Majesties: The Yuri!!! on Ice Royalty Zine





	The Sunset Over the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Happy birthday to meeeeee~~~ Wow, it's been nearly a year since I finished this, and I'm so happy to be able to share it with you all now! Much love goes out to my dear friend and collaborator, Iru, for this project! Thank you for dealing with my scatterbrained self T^T ♡ And many thanks to the mods who organized the [Majesties Zine](https://yoiroyaltyzine.tumblr.com/) and to all the other collaborators - together, we made a beautiful piece of work!

The first thing Victor notices as he steps off the vessel is that it’s _hot_. Oppressively so—as though the very sun seeks to punish him as well on this day. He swallows thickly, his mouth already parched, and represses the urge to tug at the height of his stiff collar. There are eyes all around: watching, judging. This whole charade is humiliating enough as it is; if Victor can salvage even a scrap of his pride, he will endure this discomfort.

As Victor steps upon solid ground, he turns and blocks the sun from his eyes, silently bidding his goodbyes to the imperial vessel, the _Stammi Vicino_ , the last vestige he will see of his homeland for quite some time, quite possibly even for the remainder of his life. The irony within that name is not lost on Victor: he has been shipped off to a land he does not know, as a peace offering to strengthen ties between the two empires. It is all a farce to Victor. He is a hostage, kept to maintain the tenuous peace between his kingdom of Moskovia and his new home, Kigiku. He is to be the eyes and ears for his realm in this arrangement, a plant uprooted and expected to thrive within a disparate climate. Keep him alive, keep him healthy, and there will be no issue.

But happiness was never part of the bargain.

After all, Victor by himself is no threat. He is inert. The first and only son of the Nikiforov monarchy, difficult in his birth and disappointing in his youth. Magic had flowed through him as a baby, barely contained by his small body, and the feats he accomplished as a youth lauded him as the next great wielder. But all that prodigious power seemed to vanish once he came of age.

And now his cousin, a natural-born wielder, will ascend the throne, while Victor is sent away as a bargaining chip. He tries not to feel resentful, but unfamiliar faces surround him, the very taste of the air is foreign, and Victor cannot help the way his jaw clenches with each step he takes casting him further from home.

Hasetsu, the gleaming capital of Kigiku, is a far cry from the comforts of his native Belokamennaya. It is all hills and spires, lush with foliage even at the height of fall. The vibrant colors on their own are unsettling to Victor: although austere, he misses the cool whites of marble and polished limestone of his own capital. The golden accents are heavy, reflecting light upon every surface, illuminating the city with an unearthly glow. The red, so prevalent even upon the sky, calls to mind imagery of sacrifice. Of slaughter.

The one small consolation Victor takes is in the sea, the birds crying overhead a familiar sound in the midst of uncertainty. He hopes, if nothing else, that he will be able to see it from the palace—a small connection to home across the vast distance.

  
.＊❆❅♡❅❆＊.  
  


The standard fanfare greets Victor as he travels to the city center, but by the time he arrives at the palace, Victor cannot recall any of it, too trapped within his own head to pay attention or derive much excitement from the spectacles. He only wishes to get this over with so that he can retreat to whatever corner they have carved out for him and spend the rest of the night in solitude. 

He waits in darkness within the palace halls, and then from beyond he hears his name announced. The massive doors open to almost-blinding light, and it takes a moment for Victor to realize that his eyes have adjusted, as the throne room literally sparkles. Burnished gold adorns every surface, the walls hung with golden silk banners embroidered with deep crimson and threads that certainly must be spun sunshine. Golden chrysanthemum line the aisle, all the way up the stairs and blanketing the dais. The throne itself is obscured by a curtain of crystals, creating a screen of radiance that separates the audience from the man who sits beyond.

The Emperor of Kigiku. Victor’s fiancé.

Victor is ushered before the throne, and then he is left standing alone, all eyes upon him. He is disappointed in that he cannot see much aside from the shape of the man, his clothed knees peeking from under the crystal screen and the folds of his traditional garb spread out around him. 

“His Imperial Majesty, the One Who Illuminates the Heavens, Yuuri of House Katsuki,” the emperor is announced.

“Your Majesty,” Victor greets, bowing his head, “I am most grateful for your warm welcome and pleased to make your acquaintance.” And alright, he might be laying it on a bit, but while Victor’s magic may have vanished, he at least retained his gift of charm, and it has never failed him.

He cannot see his betrothed’s eyes, but the words come like a caress that sweeps up and down his body, scorching in its wake.

“This is the Ice-Blessed Prince?” the emperor remarks, not exactly a question. Victor bristles at the mention of his childhood title, a reminder of their difference. Despite having lost his affinity, how could his family expect him to marry someone whose elemental melts his? “Welcome to our humble abode,” the emperor continues, voice thick with an unseen smirk, and it couldn’t be more insincere—the palace drips in gold.

Victor forces a smile. “Kigiku is even more brilliant than the texts describe. Hasetsu especially so.”

From behind the curtain, the emperor waves a hand. “You have journeyed far. The skies are not kind pathways; you must wish to rest after such a distance.” He signals to one of his attendants. “Show the prince to his chambers.”

Victor knows a dismissal when he hears it. He bows again, hand over his heart in the Moskovian manner. “I am indebted to your hospitality.”

A small laugh, light as bells. “There is no debt, my prince.”

But there is, isn’t there? Victor may be reading into things, but that possessive— _my prince_ —belies their arrangement. Before his apprehension betrays him, Victor turns and leaves with his escort.

  
.＊❆❅♡❅❆＊.  
  


Once Victor enters his lodgings, it is apparent that no expense has been spared for his arrival. His room is elegantly decorated, thoughtfully closer to Moskovian tastes than the rampant gold and gleam of his new residence. His chambers occupy a suite of the palace: two sitting rooms adjoin the bedroom, which extends to a dressing room and a sizable bathing quarters. It is minimal in design, whites and silvers accenting deep blue. His trunks have already arrived and been unpacked in a welcoming effort. If Victor stands close enough, he can just see the edge of the sea from his windows.

He sighs as he falls onto the bed, bouncing with the force. It’s large and plush, bigger than any one person could need. 

Well. This is home now.

_“For the good of the kingdom.”_

He rolls onto his side and clutches onto one of the many pillows littering his bed. Without Makkachin, his beloved canine companion, the loneliness cuts markedly closer than he has remembered in a while. Perhaps his...fiancé...would allow him the gift of her presence. Once he has properly met the man, he would have to ask about allowing her to come to live with them.

Victor turns onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. It has been painted with a serpentine dragon, winding its way through clusters of stars—the only bit of gold in the room. He raises his hands and concentrates, attempting to pull something—anything—out from within him. But Victor can only feel the trace of a chill upon his fingers.

He falls asleep with the stifling heat upon his skin.

  
.＊❆❅♡❅❆＊.  
  


Victor wonders if this is how his new life will be: neglected and isolated, it is not much different from the home he came from. He doesn’t know if he had been hoping for any better, but it doesn’t stop his heart from dropping a little.

After a rather lonely breakfast, an attendant comes to call on him. Victor follows as they wind their way through the palace, until Victor is ushered through a latticed door. The smoke hits him before Victor realizes it’s steam: at the far end of the room, an alcove opens to the outdoors, a stone pond set into the floor. From within the glistening waters, the emperor rises, unconcerned about his nakedness. Attendants swarm around him and drape him in his robes.

Victor inhales sharply, the air humid. This is the first time Victor has laid eyes upon the man he is to marry, and he is stunningly beautiful. His hair is dark and pushed back, revealing a strong set of brows and long eyelashes. Intricately patterned robes hang in layers off his slight shoulders, exposing the milky column of his neck and collarbones. While his countenance feels somewhat cold, the man’s eyes shine like pools of molten gold, framed by licks of red at the corners. 

“Did you rest well?” the emperor greets. Victor, momentarily stunned speechless, can only nod in response.

“Heat burns impurities while frost only encases them. Tell me, Prince Victor, what darkness your heart harbors,” the emperor says, gesturing to the misty waters, and if Victor did not know any better, the question almost sounds teasing.

“Nothing,” Victor states instead, earning an odd quirk of the emperor’s head. “Have you not heard, Your Majesty? I am empty.” A laugh escapes from him, lacking any mirth, “Did you not wonder why it was I who was sent?”

The emperor averts his eyes, considering. “I do not care much for titles. You may call me Yuuri.” He looks at Victor again as he holds out his arms, his attendants continuing to dress him, cinching wide sashes around his narrow waist. “Soaking in the hot springs is part of my duty. It cleanses the heart, and a clear heart enables the powers the heavens impart to flow through us. You wield, still?”

His magic has not _completely_ abandoned him, but it is not a topic Victor is eager to discuss. “I do.”

“Then you are not empty. You’ve just lost the flame. Come.”

Yuuri directs them to the center of the shrine room, taking a handle of golden bells in each hand. “Dance pleases the heavens. Watch.”

The stirrings of something deep within Victor begin to stretch and wake with the first chime. Yuuri twists and spins with elegance, dipping his body low, the long tails of his sleeves fluttering around him like golden wings. When Yuuri leaps, it looks as though he could take off into flight. Fire blazes around him in ribbons, serving as a partner in Yuuri’s dance. Yuuri moves with abandon, as though carried by some nameless spirit, transfiguring him into something otherworldly. Something divine. It reminds Victor of how he used to feel as a child: free and full of promise.

By the end, Victor is breathless, the familiar sting of bitterness biting behind his eyes.

  
.＊❆❅♡❅❆＊.  
  


Yuuri runs as hot and cold as their combined allegiances profess. Sometimes Victor would go for days without seeing him, or sometimes their paths would cross without the merest of glances. Often, Victor would watch as Yuuri performed his imperial duties. Other times, Yuuri would invite Victor to accompany him on boat rides down the river or strolls through the palace gardens, as if they were courting and more than a political match. Victor looks forward to these moments the most, as Yuuri’s companionship—when he has it—is captivating. He is bold yet reticent, tender and absolute; every day is a surprise as Victor learns new aspects of his husband-to-be. Today, their walk takes them along the sea, and Victor is glad for it. Although he has warmed somewhat to Hasetsu, the salty air is a balm to ease his homesickness. 

“Victor,” Yuuri dares to venture, and Victor notes it’s the first time his fiancé has addressed him not by his title, but by his given name. “It seems you are under a different impression for your presence here in Hasetsu. Do you know why you were chosen?”

“Chosen?” Victor knows, but he will play along. He lost his crown when he lost his ability to truly wield.

A small smile graces Yuuri’s lips. “Because the sun returns to the sky on the winter solstice. Therefore, it must entrust its realm to winter while it revives. We are not meant to exist in discord, you and I.” 

When Victor does not reply, Yuuri continues. “It is known amongst our people that the god who heralds winter was originally born from fire. And fire and water, when acting in accord, can be dangerous things.” He stops then, turning his back on the sunset over the sea to stand in front of Victor. The light behind him casts an orange aura around his shoulders, Yuuri eclipsing the sun. “You are a gift to me. I only wish I could be the same to you.” It’s the first time Yuuri has spoken of their impending nuptials, and the first he has professed it as anything other than what Victor perceived as a nuisance. Has he been wrong all along?

Victor swallows, his throat dry. He will never escape his past. “I am not who you think I am.”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, “You are more. But most of all, you are simply you.” He begins walking again, and Victor hastens to catch up. “I...apologize if you think me distant. I am...unused to company, to be honest.” 

“Even with…?” Victor gestures to the many attendants waiting further up the shore.

Yuuri merely shakes his head. “It is not a choice for them. And because I am seen as the embodiment of a god, none have been permitted to come close.”

“It was not a choice for me, either,” Victor says, his words measured.

Yuuri is stricken at Victor’s admission, biting his lip and averting his eyes in a rare moment of fragility. “I know. Is it so bad for you?” He lightly touches his fingertips to Victor’s brow. Victor has an irrational impulse to hold it there and press it against his face. “Your eyes...are just like the distant ocean, frozen and impassable.” He reaches down and takes one of Victor’s hands in his, squeezing gently. “Would that I could warm those waters.”

Yuuri turns and walks away toward his entourage, their excursion coming to an end. The warmth that lingers on Victor’s hand feels like a spark.

  
.＊❆❅♡❅❆＊.  
  


Something begins to change after that moment on the beach. Yuuri appears to bloom whenever Victor is in the room, like a tightly-closed bud unfurling to bask in its sustenance. More and more Victor finds his eyes straying to Yuuri, unable to look away whenever the man is in close proximity, and more and more he finds Yuuri’s gaze awaiting him. With increasing frequency, Victor indulges in fantasies, allowing his mind to wonder what Yuuri might feel like pressed up against him, or if his berry-red lips would taste as sweet as their color. What would it feel like to walk hand in hand, to rest his head upon Yuuri’s lap—would Yuuri fondly trail his fingers through Victor’s hair? Would he one day wish for more of a union than the joining of their realms, something more personal, a marriage of affection rather than convenience?

He wishes he had the courage to act upon these fleeting reveries or to broach the subject with his fiancé. But at the end of the day, they still part and retire to separate quarters, glances furtive with the closing of doors and evening salutations. At night, Victor lives in his fanciful dreams, aching to live them in reality. 

  
.＊❆❅♡❅❆＊.  
  


There is a presence within his room, but Victor does not stir. He feels no threat, just a gentle warmth, and so he lingers between the hazy slip of slumber and wakefulness. Beside him, the bed dips. And then, a delicate press against Victor’s lips, as sweet and soft as a sweep of flower petals. It feels like the opening of a secret Victor has dreamt of over and over since his arrival in Kigiku. Victor wishes to reach out, but sleep pulls him under. Before long, his visitor is gone.

Later, he is visited by an old, forgotten memory. 

_He is a child, no older than four or five years, his hair still long. The adults around him brim with excitement as they chatter amongst themselves. He does not understand why he must stand there, dressed in stuffy formal attire, when he could be playing outside instead or testing the depths of his burgeoning powers._

_“Look, Vitya. He is your intended.”_

_The child is small and slightly chubby, tucked into a lavish bassinet and babbling cheerfully. He is dressed in a rather ridiculous-looking garment—all fluff and frills, even a small ornate headdress—and his thick black hair contrasts sharply with his fair skin. But Victor feels nothing when he gazes upon the child’s face, only watches in somewhat mystified awe at the bright flames that flicker behind his amber eyes. He pokes at the child’s squishy cheek, to the admonishment of his mother and the amusement of the child’s mother. Tiny snowflakes burst from Victor’s fingertip as their skin connects. The baby giggles in delight, and there it is: something curious prickles in his chest at the sound._

_Victor cannot help but reflect the smile the child gives him, lightheaded and bubbling with joy._

When Victor wakes, a light sheen of ice has encased his bedroom. The morning light shines off the ice crystals, like a starfield come to life. His heart burns in his chest, flaring with each beat.

  
.＊❆❅♡❅❆＊.  
  


The sharp bite of crisp air carries in Victor’s lungs all the way to the shrine room, where Yuuri has already begun his daily rituals. Yuuri only spares a glance his way as Victor strides into the room, continuing his fluid motions, fire blazing around him in coordinated, glorious arcs.

“Yuuri,” Victor calls, heart thudding loudly in his ears, “You told me that dance pleases the heavens.” He steps forward towards the center of the room, where Yuuri has stilled, waiting for him, his fires extinguished. “May I join you?”

Silently, Yuuri extends a hand, as though he has always been waiting for this moment.

Taking Yuuri’s hand in his own, Victor pulls him close, feeling Yuuri’s warmth seep through their joined fingers and from where his other hand rests atop the small of Yuuri’s back. Victor looks at Yuuri, and Yuuri nods, breathless. 

Victor steps forward, Yuuri moving in concert, his flames once again roaring vividly around them. It swirls as they turn, spreading upwards and out, weaving a story older than time. And then, as they enter a promenade, Victor closes his eyes, searches within himself, and yields. The sensation is akin to reuniting with a dear friend. The cold in his hands hisses as it meets Yuuri’s heat, winter morning streaks of shimmering pale blue and silver flying out to twist among Yuuri’s dancing inferno. 

“Victor, your–” Yuuri gasps, eyes flittering about to catch the blooming of snowflakes and ice shards around them. 

“I know. I’m not sure myself why,” Victor replies, mouth upturned into a smile.

They glide around the room, their powers taking on lives of their own as their bodies rise and fall to an unheard beat. Fire and ice collide as they spin, condensing into wispy clouds in the pair’s wake, swirling higher and higher. Victor cannot remember the last time he felt so light, and it’s intoxicating, having this man in his arms at last, his long-dormant magic finally spilling out from him in abundance. Victor feels unstoppable, as though their dance could give birth to a whole new universe, like in the olden myths.

A misty canopy condenses above them, radiant and heavy, and with one sparking flash of Yuuri’s powers, the mist crackles and erupts, showering the shrine with a hail of frozen glittering diamonds. Yuuri laughs, bright and unguarded, just like the first one Victor heard so many seasons ago.

“That was amazing,” Yuuri marvels as they slow to a stop. “You must have recovered whatever you had lost.”

Victor drops their hold to encircle his arms around Yuuri. “Why did you not tell me, that we were already engaged long ago?”

Yuuri looks away, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Victor wants to replace them with his own. “Because I had refused,” Yuuri answers after a pause.

A bone-deep chill washes over Victor, unpleasant and unwelcome. “But it didn’t matter in the end.”

“No, I suppose not.” Yuuri turns to him, his smile sad, when it should be anything but after what has just happened. “I always knew I had been promised to someone since my birth. But I harbored this...childish rebellion, that we were not mere things to be claimed, property to which our kingdoms are owed due. So when my affinity properly presented, and I was selected to ascend the throne, I thought I had freedom to decide for myself. Some matters are inescapable.” His next words are painfully soft: “I wish I could give you a choice.”

Despite his hardship and the misgivings he harbored at the beginning, Victor feels strangely that he does not want to leave. Instead, he wants to tie himself to this man, burn alongside Yuuri’s brilliance. 

“But we do have a choice, do we not?”

“What do you–?”

Victor pulls Yuuri in tighter. “Something else might’ve deemed our union—the heavens, our countries, whatever you wish to call it—but _we_ could choose. I could love you,” Victor says, already knowing that he does. There is no other reason his magic could have returned to him. If Yuuri was right, and magic originates in the heart...then his own has finally awakened after a long slumber.

“That...sounds like a proposal,” Yuuri says softly, searching Victor’s face. Yuuri’s eyes are alight with fire, just as Victor remembers in his dream. “We are already to be wed.”

“But I am asking you now. Not some pre-arrangement neither of us could decide.”

Yuuri leans into him, and to Victor in that moment, Yuuri feels like neither an aspect of some deity nor an emperor, but simply a man Victor could embrace as his husband. “Then stay by my side, and never leave me.”

It’s Victor’s turn to laugh. He kisses the palm of Yuuri’s hand and holds it to his cheek. “You told me before: if you are the sun, then I will be the place you can return to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please shower Iru with lots of love for her GORGEOUS artwork!! Even a year later, and I'm still in awe. _sobs forever_  
>  Iruutciv @ [tumblr](https://iruutciv.tumblr.com/) \+ [twitter](https://twitter.com/iruutciv)
> 
> Much love and thanks to my lovely friend and amazing graphic designer/artist [Robin](https://twitter.com/mang0pulp) for the banner art!!
> 
> Comments, kudos, shares, any level of coherent or incoherent screaming are all my life blood lol! I'd love to hear what you think! ♡
> 
> Talk to me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/kaguneesan)!


End file.
